Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea typicality 0.85 · 492 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Now sits the wind fane, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, And you my gentle Knight, give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France? Doing the execution, and the act, For which we have in head assembled them. No doubt my Liege, if each man do his best. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence, That grows not in a fair consent with ours: Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish Success and Conquest to attend on us. Never was Monarch better feared and loved, Then is your Majesty; there's not I think a subject That sits in heart-greefe and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. True: those that were your Father's enemies, Have steeped their gauls in honey, and do serve you With hearts create of duty, and of zeal. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness, And shall forget the office of our hand Sooner than quittance of desert and merit, According to the weight and worthiness. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope To do your Grace incestant services. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: We consider It was excess of Wine that set him on, And on his more advice, We pardon him, That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punished Sovereign, lest example Breed (by his sufferance) more of such a kind. O let us yet be merciful. So may your Highness, and yet punish too. Sir, you show great mercy if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. Alas, your too much love and care of me, Are heavy Orisons 'gainst this poor wretch: If little faults proceeding on distemper, Shall not be winked at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chewed, swallowed, and digested, Appear before us? we'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person Would have him punished. And now to our French causes, Who are the late Commissioners? I one my Lord, Your Highness bade me ask for it to day. So did you me my Liege. And I my Royal Sovereign. Then Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours: There yours Lord Scroop of Masham, and Sir Knight: Gray of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them, and know I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and Uncle Exeter, We will aboard to night. Why how now Gentlemen? What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion? Look ye how they change: Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there, That have so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 551–614 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 51 in this edition
Length
492 words · 644 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T10 — England and France: war, embassy and peacecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.851 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now ſits the winde fane, and we will aboord. My Lord of Cambridge, and my kinde Lord of Maſham, And you my gentle Knight, giue me your thoughts: Thinke you not that the powres we beare with vs Will cut their paſſage through the force of France? Doing the execution, and the acte, For which we haue in head aſſembled them. No doubt my Liege, if each man do his beſt. I doubt not that, ſince we are well perſwaded We carry not a heart with vs from hence, That growes not in a faire conſent with ours: Nor leaue not one behinde, that doth not wiſh Succeſſe and Conqueſt to attend on vs. Neuer was Monarch better fear'd and lou'd, Then is your Maieſty; there's not I thinke a ſubiect That ſits in heart-greefe and vneaſineſſe Vnder the ſweet ſhade of your gouernment. True: thoſe that were your Fathers enemies, Haue ſteep'd their gauls in hony, and do ſerue you With hearts create of duty, and of zeale. We therefore haue great cauſe of thankfulnes, And ſhall forget the office of our hand Sooner then quittance of deſert and merit, According to the weight and worthineſſe. So ſeruice ſhall with ſteeled ſinewes toyle, And labour ſhall refreſh it ſelfe with hope To do your Grace inceſtant ſeruices. We Iudge no leſſe. Vnkle of Exeter, Inlarge the man committed yeſterday, That ayl'd againſt our perſon: We conſider It was exceſſe of Wine that ſet him on, And on his more aduice, We pardon him, That's mercy, but too much ſecurity: Let him be puniſh'd Soueraigne, leaſt example Breed (by his ſufferance) more of ſuch a kind. O let vs yet be mercifull. So may your Highneſſe, and yet puniſh too. Sir, you ſhew great mercy if you giue him life, After the taſte of much correction. Alas, your too much loue and care of me, Are heauy Oriſons 'gainſt this poore wretch: If little faults proceeding on diſtemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how ſhall we ſtretch our eye When capitall crimes, chew'd, ſwallow'd, and digeſted, Appeare before vs? Wee'l yet inlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray, in their deere care And tender preſeruation of our perſon Wold haue him puniſh'd▪ And now to our French cauſes, Who are the late Commiſſioners? I one my Lord, Your Highneſſe bad me aske for it to day. So did you me my Liege. And I my Royall Soueraigne. Then Richard Earle of Cambridge, there is yours: There yours Lord Scroope of Maſham, and Sir Knight: Gray of Northumberland, this ſame is yours: Reade them, and know I know your worthineſſe. My Lord of Weſtmerland, and Vnkle Exeter, We will aboord to night. Why how now Gentlemen? What ſee you in thoſe papers, that you looſe So much complexion? Looke ye how they change: Their cheekes are paper. Why, what reade you there, That haue ſo cowarded and chac'd your blood Out of apparance.